One of the Team
by Gentle Breezes
Summary: Gunmax tries not to give a damn and ends up doing the exact opposite.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Brave Police J-Decker, because if I did I'd be bragging about the 2-story robots that got to take me to university every day.

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There is nothing as fragile as an idiot who cares about his job.

He's good at what he does. Damned good. Precision is a no-brainer; you had to be a good shot when taking down fast-moving vehicles while riding a fast-moving vehicle. And if he played it fast and loose with his gun, well, it only seemed he was doing it that way. He was reckless, but there was skill there. He had a passion for his work that came from more than just the purpose he was built for.

It was a risky business, toeing around the Brave Police. Gunmax had heard about their work, skimmed their files with the idle interest of someone above the shuffling of grunts, focusing only on the most interesting things. The incident with that evil spirit was certainly worth note. He'd also heard about their teamwork, which sounded efficient but campy beyond all rationale. And he, who had spent days lounging around desk-side of the hard hitters in the traffic task forces, and had driven by night to corral some of the most notorious gangs in Japan, was not the least bit interested in anything campy. The time for blase idealism - if it had ever existed in the justice system - had died long before his blueprints had even been thought about. Things like always being able to save the day based solely on belief in your friends and blind optimism were as stupid as they were useless, scorned as much for its outdated look as it was the uncomfortable memories that surfaced whenever he thought over such things.

He told himself he was being a realist.

He's never had a problem following leads. So when he does inevitably join the Brave Boy Scouts, he's determined to work alone as much as possible. Other teammates did it, so why shouldn't he go ahead and take his liberties? Besides, he didn't want the whole buddy-buddy thing to rub off on him. He knew from experience that you never came out of struggles and the daily grind without taking something from your teammates along with you.

The last thing he needed was to be coerced into saying _Hold up~!_

He returns a lot of favors within the next two days. He also tells himself this. Past that he doesn't owe the _aho-patokichi_ anything except a headache, and something lethal and final enough to offset the sound of the boss' name stuck in his head like the worst of earworms.

When said boss saves his neck he gets a little more generous. The kid ain't all that bad for a kid. Yuuta was an inspector at the age of 10 - a historical feat - and had contributed to every member's personality in some way. He also knew that he was a difficult bot to deal with, so he gave the kid no small amount of credit for actually putting his life on the line to save what everyone no doubt associated with the words "pain in the ass".

Within three-days' time, a kid earns his respect (openly), the rest of the team earns his respect (sort of and definitely not openly) and he teeters dangerously on the edge of change. He tells himself he's going soft. He also tells himself that a life saved does not equate a friendship.

He's half-correct. He doesn't account for the other half of himself, blithely ignoring it for old habits with a hope that everyone would somehow forget his progress.

Troublesome things, the memories of those Brave Police.

Especially Deckerd's.

It didn't take long for Gunmax to decide that if Deckerd hadn't been a policeman, he might've made a very convincing motivational speaker. Deckerd's zeal for this job only just ranks beneath his never-ending friendship with their boss. He'd spent the longest time with the kid, so it was only logical, but _come ON_, where did the fountain of unrelenting belief in goodness come from?

Not all the people they encountered were good or deserved a second chance. They had all dealt with their share of nasty criminals, so obviously there's a line drawn somewhere. But there are people outside of the criminal category who aren't all that great either. People who are different. People who disagree. People who are inadequate or will never fit in. There has to be differentiation. It frustrates him indescribably that Deckerd seems unable to grasp even the tail end of this concept.

That ignored part of him insists that perhaps this is his way of trying to convince himself he fits into that category. There are places he doesn't belong, places he's convinced he doesn't need to be. In the back of his super A.I. unit he knows he's pushing the team away on purpose. Why? Perhaps he feels he doesn't belong. Or perhaps, against all odds and insults, he feels he could, but is too afraid to try. Too afraid of the honest, ardent, uni-faceted thing that everyone on the team offered without question or hesitation.

A place to belong. Work that doesn't end in betrayal.

A family.

He snaps back by telling himself they all need to grow a spine. The world doesn't run on ideals and fairytales. This is for the best. They do not need - or deserve - to put up with the likes of him. But the hope to share in what they have lingers on. A boat can only float aimlessly for so long before running ashore, and dependency scares him worse than anything they've fought so far.

Then, disaster.

It takes no battle - not the one fought with guns anyway - for him to be convinced to stay. And sure, the actual battle after helped, but the idea had already been brewing in his head with each awkward, handcuffed second. Relentless pursuit of someone because there is belief they can be helped or saved. Conviction in the knowledge that if someone hasn't found a place to belong, you might as well invite them over to where your camp is. Seeing that he - not as a pinch or a piece, but as a whole and complete unit - needs friends and needs and wants the companionship. He'd be downright stupid to ignore that now that he's admitted it.

So he follows the others back to the base without being dragged. He tries out his seat at his desk before powering down for the night. He even takes the snark down.

Only a notch though.

The others might as well know what they're in for because he's not leaving now. Not even if they tried to make him leave. Oddly enough, that never actually happens.

Gunmax had tried not to give a damn and ended up doing the exact opposite.

And that was absolutely fine with him.

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**A/N: **It's late and I've had this collecting dust in my folder, which equals publishiiiing~!

I cannot even begin to describe my love for this series or for all the precious dorks contained in it. I figured that if I was going to write something for this series it might as well include everyone's favorite idiot, because who doesn't like a snarky, slightly tsundere gun-slingers?

Seriously though, I'd love to hear every thought about this. Edits, finding glaring grammar and spelling errors, suggestions about plot flow, all of that is welcome.

Thank you for reading!


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